


A Touch Too Long

by marimoes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Lots of tears, M/M, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Set during DAI, Warden Bethany Hawke, Weisshaupt Fortress (Dragon Age), lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: The steady, anxious click of his boots against the floor keeps Nathaniel’s breathing somewhat even, but his eyes stay glued to the door. Slick with spit and worry, his thumb is now rid of all extra skin, and when it again comes back to his mouth he tastes blood.“Howe.”Nathaniel turns his head only slightly, eyes begging to dart back to the door, but when they find Bethany’s they stay. She too knows what he’s going through right now. In fact, she may be the only one.
Relationships: Anders/Nathaniel Howe
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	A Touch Too Long

When they get word of someone spotted just outside the bounds, Nathaniel’s heart sinks. Falling with ease into the depths of his stomach where it will likely rest for the next three hours. Now, each careful grind of his teeth together will send him further, pushing him over an edge that has existed for years now.

A vacant hope held within a space on the other side that has been there all this time. Only ‘filled’ with thoughts and memories given to him by his own mind and few others. But it’s collecting dust slowly, and today it may be wiped clean. Because it could be anyone, and therefore no one, down before the gates. 

To make it this far into the Anderfels is no small task. In fact, with the current time of year it should nearly be impossible for those who don’t already reside here. For unless they are a Warden, they’re instead likely a massive threat. 

One that must be dealt with in haste. 

The steady, anxious click of his boots against the floor keeps Nathaniel’s breathing somewhat even, but his eyes stay glued to the door. Slick with spit and worry, his thumb is now rid of all extra skin, and when it again comes back to his mouth he tastes blood. 

“Howe.” 

Nathaniel turns his head only slightly, eyes begging to dart back to the door, but when they find Bethany’s they stay. She too knows what he’s going through right now. In fact, she may be the only one. 

“Which one of them is it? It has to be one of them, right?” Nathaniel grinds out, eyes returning to the metal plating. He switches hands, and his teeth start to tug at the skin. 

Bethany reaches out a hand, but after Nathaniel starts to pace again, she lets it fall in the space between them. There is no stopping him once he’s like this—she knows all too well. No amount of comfort can be brought until he knows everything. 

Comfort lies in fact alone, for Nathaniel. This has never changed. 

“I would hope so, but Nathaniel,” Bethany says, eyes cast downwards, “You heard the reports. The chantry is gone. They’re missing. I want it to be them too, more than anything, but—”

Nathaniel stops short, free hand winding tightly into a fist. Blood leaks from his thumb, curling around his knuckle to paint a thin red line. “But, nothing. They’re stronger than that, smarter than that. How do you not have more faith in your brother? In Anders?” 

Where her lip used to quiver, Bethany’s face stays composed. 

The years have been harsh on her, especially now with Hawke being the only immediate family she has left. Nathaniel knows the feeling all too well, and thinks of Delilah for a moment with a hard swallow. 

“I’m sorry, Bethany,” Nathaniel murmurs, holding his hand out into the space and she meets him. Running his thumb across her hand, he brushes the polished silver of her ring and she smiles. “It takes a lot more than that to kill either of them, I’m sure of it.” 

“Right. He is a Hawke, after all,” She replies, retrieving her hand to place softly over her heart. Her own thumb strokes across it, pulling a trembling smile to her lips. “I’m glad Uncle Gamlen did something right for once in giving me this. I’d hate to think I didn’t have anything of Mother’s anymore.” 

A sad smile mirrors on Nathaniel’s face at that. The two of them truly are more alike than they realize, bound by tragedies they’d never wish on anyone else. His thumb brushes against his own ring; gold and not nearly as smooth. 

Still, it steadies him, just like the man that made and gave it to him does. But that’s a feeling immediately tossed away by the sound of grinding metal. 

It brings the conversation, and Nathaniel’s breathing, to a complete halt. There is no denying it: doors are being opened down the way, one at a time. Shouts are following, muffled and indistinct, and Nathaniel doesn’t get a thought put together before he’s tugging at the one before him. 

“One!” A warden yells, voice distant and echoing through the sliver, “Defenses down!” 

One. 

Nathaniel doesn’t have time to look at Bethany, he doesn’t have time for anything other than pulling the door open just enough to slip through. When his foot meets the landing at the top of the stairwell, it does not stay. Instead, he uses it to launch forwards, jumping down the steps three or four at a time only to reach the bottom as the door on the other side of the corridor starts to open.

His heart is no longer in his stomach, but rather strangled in his throat. Each passing beat thrumming with a single word, etching deeper into him by the second. 

_Anders. Anders. Anders._

It’s nearly deafening as it pounds like a war drum, only to go quiet all at once the moment the doors show through the other side.

Nathaniel doesn’t have to process it, or check to make sure he’s got it right. He knows. 

When a body hits his own, forcing his foot to dig back to hold him in place—he finally breathes. A strangled one, pulled through chattering teeth as his hands find their place amongst black feathers. 

Those damn feathers. It’s always those feathers, yet he’d be lying to say he isn’t blessed that they’ve returned once more. Laced between his fingers, sitting soft yet brittle atop his hands, they bring the warmth of something far better than spring with them. 

Anders chokes, face buried against his neck. 

Weisshaupt itself could fall away from existence in this moment and Nathaniel wouldn’t notice. The only thing tethering him to the earth at all is within his arms, breath hot and shaking against his skin. 

Delirium fills his mind like an overflowing bucket, and for the first time fear strikes him that this could all just be a dream. That what he wants so badly could have steeped his subconscious into ruin. 

“Anders,” Nathaniel says, and even then the single word barely comes out, “You’re here?” 

A nod digs into him before Anders pulls back. Their eyes meet, bleeding with tears that streak down their cheeks before falling to the floor. With an exhale of a laugh, Anders presses his forehead to Nathaniel’s, and a beat of labored breathing passes before his lips do the same. 

They fold into each other, ease returning to them like it was never lost, and the empty space Nathaniel once worried for is again filled. No longer is it cold and dusty, but rather bursting at the seams with a warmth that only a mage can seem to bring. 

Fire that conjures in his lips, hands, and heart; all burning Nathaniel alive. 

Huffs of recycled air hiss from between their lips, with teeth clicking with an urgency neither have felt in years. They could stand here forever and it wouldn’t be enough, but the low clearing of a throat behind Anders makes them part. 

Regardless, they remain pressed together, foreheads pushing as if to hold the other up. 

“I made it.” The words croak from Anders throat, giddy in their adrenaline driven high. His hands cup Nathaniel’s face, nails digging into his jawline as if he would float away if Anders let go. “I made it to you.” 

Nathaniel doesn’t respond, only laughs back a stuttering sound with a grin pulled so tight it hurts. The prickling chill of Anders’ hands sink into recognition, and Nathaniel reaches up to pin them under his own. Warmth seeps between them slowly, but gradual isn’t what Anders needs right now. 

“You’re freezing, by no surprise,” Nathaniel says, his own teeth chattering as if he was the one coming in from the cold, “Let’s get you in, ok? Get you warm.” 

Anders shakes his head, shiver jolting through his shoulders. “You mean to tell me I’m not on fire right now? Impossible.” 

Nathaniel looks up to the Wardens still placed at the doors before them and gives a single nod. There is a lot that they’ll need from Anders in due time—questions both men don’t want to give weight to at the moment—but they know that. 

Still, the Wardens knowing who Anders is will buy them some time. Not a lot, but any time at all is more than enough. 

The passive looks given to them as Nathaniel ushers Anders back to his quarters are nothing short of judgmental. They know who he is, what he’s done, and what he’s capable of. A Grey Warden who set the Chantry in Kirkwall ablaze, starting the rebellion. 

It doesn’t matter what they think. Not to Nathaniel, not for a moment. 

“I’m surprised they let me in without handcuffs,” Anders supplies, almost as if he read Nathaniel’s mind, “The weather isn’t the only cold thing about this place—but it’s home.” 

“That’s right,” Nathaniel says, eyes still focused ahead, “You’re from the Anderfels.” 

Anders gives a noise that sounds like a hum, but far sharper, like he’s deciding on what to say. With a tightening grip on Nathaniel’s hand is where he decides to leave it. 

When they reach Nathaniel’s quarters, they slide into the room as if they were being chased. Chests heaving gently as they press against the closed door, hands still tightly intertwined. The tension that should have shattered remains unbroken, held instead with an ever growing pit in Nathaniel’s stomach. 

Anders is here, in his quarters, alone with him. There is no one after them. There is no blight to be fought. It is just them, the vacant space before them, and the nervous tingle of electricity caught between their shoulders. 

“The lavatory is just beside my quarters, down the hall and to the left. I’ll give you some dry clothes if you want to change there, or—” Nathaniel starts, words sounding overly proper in his own ears as he falls into playing host, but he’s cut off. Words stolen into Anders’ mouth as he again presses against him. 

This time there is still adrenaline behind his actions, a sweeping rush of excitement held in his tongue as it paints across Nathaniel’s mouth. It pulls a soft moan from his chest, aching with residual flames and Nathaniel feels Anders' smile against his mouth. 

Their hands find their place with a level of remembrance that nearly puts them back in time. Anders’ snakes to rest on Nathaniel’s lower back, pulling him snugly, while a mirroring one from Nathaniel does the same on his upper back. Space is but a nuisance between them, an unfortunate requirement, and they do their best to rid of it any way they can. 

Always have. 

Anders shifts, leg pinning against the door between Nathaniel’s thighs and the wood shakes with a low groan. When he grinds upwards, he does so slowly, pulling a crackle of pleasure from his own lips. Heat presses into Nathaniel’s abdomen, almost painful in its conjuring as it deepens. 

“You want to fuck against the door when I have a perfectly good bed right there?” Nathaniel grumbles out against Anders’ lips. Pushing forward, he captures Anders’ laugh of a response with another kiss, foot jutting between his legs before moving again. 

They navigate backwards, intertwined in a way that is begging to fail, but to part would be a far worse fate. 

“What? You don’t like playing hard to get?” Anders says when they bump against the footboard. His eyes are lulled, but bright with the hazel Nathaniel has only been able to dream of all this time. “How about we go seven more years?” 

A quick shove lands Anders against the bed, leaving him to bounce twice before he’s forced to settle beneath the weight of Nathaniel on him. Their eyes meet, holding for a beat that feels like it lasts far too long to be real, and tears try to crowd on the edges. Anders blinks his away, hand reaching up to take them from Nathaniel in kind. 

His hands are rough to the touch, now calloused where they once were untouched and soft. The years have done many things to both of them, more so than what lies unspoken between their heaving chests. 

They remain that way as Nathaniel falls farther against Anders, elbows sinking onto either side of his head to trap him completely in a kiss. With fingers clutched against the blankets he cements himself to reality as hard as he can, for his heart and mind are anything but steadfast at the moment. 

When they part, legs pressing against the end to move further upwards, it's with a huff of impatience. It’s all limbs, tugging and pulling and yanking at fabric as it’s stripped from their bodies with impatient hands. Where usually Anders would take his time—driving Nathaniel up a wall with his pacing of so-called seduction—it seems that it’s been left at the door. 

There is only urgency and disbelief left hanging on their skin with nothing else to cover it. 

With questioning eyes they scan the other; both finding chiseled and scarred shoulders that lead to chests that are much the same. Time and experience haven’t been kind to them it seems, but that’s alright. 

It’s what the other is for now. 

Anders’ hands curl around Nathaniel’s shoulders, flipping him onto his back before a leg throws over his hip. Hungry lips nip at his neck, teeth teasing the stubbled skin that rests there. It leaves him floating, much like Anders’ hands across his chest as they sweep across his nipple. He hovers, thumb circling on the taut pink skin for a moment, and when Nathaniel squirms a laugh is breathed into his neck. 

“You didn’t forget, I see,” Nathaniel grits out, eyes focused on the ceiling as he prays to Andraste for strength, “ _Lucky me._ ” 

Anders places a harder kiss at the base of Nathaniel’s ear before sucking on his lobe gently, and Nathaniel doesn’t have to see him to feel the smile on his lips. “Of course not, darling. How could I forget the noises you make as I run my tongue across it. Am I to keep going until it’s not the only thing stiff?” 

Nathaniel groans, hand reaching up to push the free strands away from his face. “Weren’t we crying only minutes ago? Now you’re already threatening my nipples—” 

Anders hips shift, grinding against the growing discomfort sitting between Nathaniel’s legs and he hisses out. A laugh vibrates against his skin before another kiss is placed against his collar. 

“They say adrenaline is quite the aphrodisiac,” Anders murmurs, hand drifting to curl into Nathaniel’s waist, “Now, Howe.” Nathaniel looks down to find Anders staring straight through him, and any smile he had is now gone. “How long are you going to make me wait?” 

Nathaniel groans, grin pulled tight at the words. “You’re not even ready! Maker, I forgot how impatient you are when you’re like this.” 

Anders’ brows furrow before his eyes dart to the side. They glance around the room quickly, searching for something Nathaniel doesn’t need spoken. 

“I could just tell you,” Nathaniel sighs, hand moving up to brush Anders’ thigh. Anders looks back, excitement poorly contained in his star filled eyes. “Bottom drawer of my desk, you have to pull it up before out—”

Anders scrambles off him in an instant, knee catching Nathaniel’s harshly with a sharp hiss, but it’s forgotten by the time his feet hit the floor. There is only the ebb and flow of excitement that is leaving Nathaniel dizzier by the second.

A soft ‘ah ha’ comes from Anders as he tugs the drawer open, and the small tin canister clicks beneath his anxiously drumming fingers. 

“‘Maker’, yourself,” Anders laughs, crawling back onto the bed, “Now, do you want to do it or should I?”

A tightening winds in Nathaniel’s chest at the thought of Anders fingering himself before him, but also an ache of wanting to feel him writhe in his hands as soon as possible. 

“Why would you do it?” Nathaniel counters, “And why do you keep asking so many questions when I want to fuck you?” 

“I could say the same thing,” Anders mumbles, fingers rubbing into the salve. “I’ll do it. You’ll take your time like you always do, and frankly—” Anders’ words clip off into a gasp as his fingers enter himself. “I was t-heasing about playing hard to get.” 

Knelt before him, Anders rocks back against his hand with a pattern that quickens with each lean. Nathaniel feels his mouth dry out at once, brain still scrambling to put together the pieces of what’s happening. If he allows himself to question it, he knows he won’t be able to enjoy it. 

So, he doesn’t think when he pushes himself up onto his knees before grabbing Anders jaw to bring his mouth against him in a harsh kiss. Anders’ lips quirk with pleasure as he continues, leaving him to pant into Nathaniel’s mouth and the action alone nearly makes him come. 

“You’re still so stubborn,” Nathaniel murmurs against Anders’ lips, and a whine of a rebuttal slips between before they’re once more locked. 

Anders’ hand pulls from himself with a grit of his teeth against Nathaniel’s bottom lip before wiping it against his thigh. With eyes once more open, their focus meets with a soft shake of anticipation and there is silence when Nathaniel once again falls back against the bed. 

No words or taunts as Anders slips onto him without pause, leaving both men to bite their lips before moaning out. 

“You’ve done so much today, are you sure you don’t want me to—” Nathaniel starts to reason, but is cut off by the harsh grind of Anders’ hips on him, “Maker…” 

Deft hands tug at the tie behind Anders’ head and when he frees it, gold spills over his shoulders. That soft gleam that Nathaniel swears he can catch on the days the light hits his ring just right. Still, it can never compare to the sight before him now. 

“Do you know how many nights I’ve whined with my hand deep within myself just imagining that I was riding you? I don’t care if I can’t walk for a week,” Anders laughs, hands spreading across Nathaniel’s chest. They graze up, tracing the lines of muscles up and around his shoulders before tucking into his biceps. With a steading squeeze, he grins. 

Nathaniel rolls his eyes before glancing back at the headboard behind him. Without a word or permission he shifts, pushing himself and Anders back towards it until his head rests firmly against the wooden frame. 

Before Anders can question, Nathaniel bucks up into him. With a choke, his hands fly forward grasping at the top of the headboard before catching his breath. The soft scraping of Anders’ nails against the wood vibrates above Nathaniel’s head and he smiles. 

“Clever,” Anders tuts, shifting an experimental thrust of his hips forward with his new grip. The control is instant, allowing Anders to lean back before arching into another grind. “Wish I had one of these in those Maker forsaken tents.” 

Nathaniel’s eyes fight to close as Anders continues to rock. All he wants is to watch the man on him slowly melt into pleasure, but his own is held tight around his neck. 

Through slitted eyes he catches glimpses of what they can only mean when they say they see Andraste. 

Sweat forms like rain against glass on Anders’ face and neck, collecting into streaks that paint down to fall into the lines of his collar. They collect there, coated in the red that sits beneath him on his skin, and shine. 

Anders has always shone to Nathaniel. That gentle glow of warmth that comes from his hands after casting or when he rests against his arm for a quick nap. It comes naturally to him, almost like breathing, which at the moment Nathaniel struggles to do. 

It’s held in his throat, jumbled with the cacophony of his thoughts, and only clears when Anders lifts further off him than before. 

What breath he takes in quickly escapes him in a moan as Anders slowly sinks back onto him. Through narrowed eyes he spies the mage smile—a tight grin that breaks into a gasp with another rock of his hips. The pace quickens after that, a steady yet fast grinding of Anders’ hips into Nathaniel’s as he slumps forward, held up only by his grip on the headboard. 

“Anders.” The name is said as easy as the sigh in which it’s spoken from Nathaniel’s lips and is repeated in a whisper that barely bridges the space between them. It continues to stumble, nearly chanted with each smack of skin.

_Anders. Anders. Anders._

“I’ve missed you, I’ve _m-hiss_ ,” Anders grits out, hair no longer settled on his shoulders, but rather clung against his soaked skin and a drop of sweat falls against Nathaniel’s cheek, “Never again, n-hh—”

Nathaniel reaches up, finger shaking in the air before they make contact with the dip of Anders’ hip. Digging in he pulls, lifting Anders forward in his struggling motion. They’re both so close Nathaniel can nearly taste it. 

That salt laden flavor only glimpsed by the sweat that curves around the corner of his mouth. 

Nathaniel wants to tell him he knows. That he feels the same and that he’ll never let him go either, but that isn’t for now. The only thing that is for now is the soft moan held behind Anders’ bitten lip and forcing its escape with a well-timed thrust. 

It might have been years since the last time they were together, but Anders’ tells have stayed the same. How his chest almost stops moving at all, paired with the clench of resistance in his thighs to keep himself from coming too soon. 

Much like the rest of his life, Anders fights. 

It takes a battle of his own, hard fought with dug in heels and the bite of nails against skin for Nathaniel to get him to relent. And he does, with everything loosening at once as Anders spills onto Nathaniel’s chest with a shudder causing him to follow not a moment later. 

The headboard groans along with Anders as he releases his hold on it to lean back against Nathaniel’s knees. A minute of belabored breathing passes before a laugh whines from Anders’ lips and a matching one follows suit. 

“Too long, darling,” Anders sighs, and weakly pushes his hair back off his face. It clings in jilted lines against his skin, and barely sits within the tie when he pulls it back. 

“Never again,” Nathaniel promises in return, threading Anders’ fingers within his own. Pulling his hand forwards Nathaniel kisses reddened knuckles with a hum. 

Anders returns it a moment later, placing a kiss against gold. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Consider: Anders is fine safe-harbored with Nathaniel in Weisshaupt and in love. Just consider it. Hawke comes back after Adamant and they're all very warm and happy together. The end. 
> 
> Twitter: @__moes__


End file.
